


Nowhere Else To Run

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Play Along [19]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/M, M/M, band au, musician au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 05:23:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7562065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: "SGA/SG-1, John/Cam, He would never ask for help, even when he really needed it."</p><p>In which John isn't the only one who doesn't ask for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nowhere Else To Run

The thing about John Sheppard was that he was incredibly stubborn and would never ask for help, even when he really needed it. And right then, he needed it, but he wasn’t going to ask for help, and Cam wasn’t going to offer, because damn. John, on Cam’s lap, torso rippling as he peeled off his shirt, was the kind of thing a man ought to pause and enjoy.  
  
And then John got stuck, because in his impatience he was trying to pull a button-down shirt over his head, and what had started as a sexy strip act turned into a bit of a comedy routine as John tried to get free, failed, tried to get free, and then made a sad whimpering sound.  
  
Cam laughed softly, reached out and ran his hands up John’s ribs, watched him squirm because he was ticklish.  
  
“Cam,” John protested, voice muffled.  
  
“What?” Cam asked, tracing the lines of muscles along John’s chest and abdomen.  
  
John began struggling to get free more vehemently, but he was good and tangled in his shirt.  
  
“Cam,” John said sharply, and his breath hitched when Cam smoothed his thumbs over John’s nipples. They hadn’t gone very far, just making out and rubbing off against each other, occasionally daring to sneak hands between them to stroke and squeeze through jeans, but Cam was feeling brave tonight.  
  
“What, John? I’m just enjoying some mighty pleasant scenery. If there’s something you want, you’ll have to use your words.” Both bands had been _on_ tonight, hit every note, every cue perfectly, and Cam could still feel the buzz from the audience singing in his veins. He slid his hands lower, circling John’s navel with his thumbs and watching, entranced, as John rocked his hips forward.  
  
“Cam,” John said weakly, “help.”  
  
“Help you what?” Cam slid his hands even lower, cupped John through his jeans, and was gratified when John thrust into his touch with a moan.  
  
“Help me get free.”  
  
“There you go.” Cam sat up, tugged John close so they were skin to skin, and reached up, unfastening the buttons on John’s twisted shirt with quick, deft hands. Cam might not have been one of the guitarists for the Snakeskinners, but his hands were just as dexterous and sure as Vala’s and Hailey’s. “You can use your words after all.” He freed John from the shirt at last, and John tugged him close for a filthy, open-mouthed kiss, hips circling and grinding even as he sucked on Cam’s tongue like the dirtiest promise.  
  
“You,” John said between kisses, “are such a tease.”  
  
Cam reached around and grabbed John’s ass, yanked him in tighter for more delicious friction. “Says the pretty, pretty boy writhing on my lap.”  
  
John leaned in and nuzzled behind Cam’s ear, nipped his way down Cam’s throat to that spot where neck met shoulder and bit, and Cam groaned, hips snapping upward reflexively.  
  
“I’m not the only pretty, pretty writhing boy,” John whispered.  
  
In some ways, John was cosmopolitan, worldly and world-weary. In other ways, he was delightfully innocent.  
  
So when he rubbed his chest against Cam’s and said, “Can I taste you? I wanna taste you,” Cam had to bite back a scream, because he knew John had never done that before, and the thought of being John’s first, of plundering his pretty mouth, was almost too much.  
  
“Let me taste you first,” Cam whispered back, “and show you how it’s done.”  
  
John nodded frantically, scrambled backward on the bunk and tried to undo his jeans, but his hands were shaking and his dexterity was shot, and it was going to be like his shirt all over again.  
  
“Easy, cowboy,” Cam drawled, soft and gentle, stilling John’s hands. “I got this. You sit back and relax, enjoy, and maybe try to learn a thing or two.”  
  
John nodded, chest rising and falling rapidly, and sat back against the wall, spreading his legs, watching Cam with wide, dark eyes, lips parted in awe.  
  
Cam smiled and slid off the bunk to his knees, reached for the button of John’s jeans, and -  
  
There was a thump on the other side of the door.  
  
Damn. The rest of John’s band was back.  
  
Cam cringed, waited for the _Mitchell, get a damn room!_ from Ronon.  
  
Instead he heard Rodney cry out. “Jennifer? Jennifer! Evan, help me - she’s collapsed! Of course the only one of us with medical training has collapsed.”

Evan said, “Dammit, Rodney, call nine-one-one. Jennifer? Can you hear me?”  
  
John batted Cam’s hands aside and sat up, yanked on the nearest shirt - Cam’s - and threw open the door.  
  
Jennifer lay crumpled on the floor of the bus like a marionette with her strings cut, pale.  
  
Rodney was pressed against one of the other bunks, speaking frantically into his cell phone.  
  
Cam blinked, mind muzzy with abruptly halted lust, and then he fell to his knees beside Evan.  
  
“I have first aid training,” he said, because his mother had insisted everyone in the family have it. Because of Dad’s fragile health. Cam checked Jennifer’s pulse - faint, thready.  
  
“John,” Cam snapped, and John stumbled to his knees as well. “Help me get her onto her back. On three. One, two, three -”  
  
Cam made sure Jennifer was flat on her back, checked for a head wound, but there was no blood. “Elevate her feet so blood flows to her brain. At least a foot above her heart.”  
  
John immediately ducked down and hoisted Jennifer’s feet up onto his shoulders.  
  
“Evan, undo her collar so she can breathe, and her pants,” Cam said.  
  
Rodney spun around. “Hey now -”  
  
“It’s so she can breathe, dammit,” Cam snapped. Rodney batted Evan’s hands aside - Evan’s hands were shaking - and he unfastened Jennifer’s belt and jeans.  
  
Cam tipped her head back, opened her mouth to make sure her airways were clear.  
  
“EMS is on its way,” Rodney said.  
  
“What happened?” Cam asked.  
  
“She said she had a headache and wanted to come lie down. I was walking her to her bunk and she just - fell over.” Rodney was pale, frantic. “Usually she hangs out with John while the rest of us are in the pit, but he was singing with you guys tonight, so she joined us in the pit. Maybe she got dehydrated or something.”  
  
Beneath Cam’s hands, Jennifer was thin and fragile. Cam was afraid he’d snap her like a twig. He kept checking her breathing and her pulse. Both were erratic, but she seemed stable enough.  
  
The sirens in the distance couldn’t have come sooner. Rodney dashed outside of the bus to flag down the ambulances. EMTs arrived with bags full of medical gear, asked rapid-fire questions of Rodney.  
  
“Is she on any prescriptions?”  
  
“I don’t know, maybe? She takes pills,” Rodney said.  
  
“Show me,” one of the EMTs - a tall, bespectacled man with a ponytail - demanded.  
  
Rodney ducked into the bus bathroom, came back with a ziploc bag full of prescription bottles.  
  
“What’s her name?” the other EMT - tiny, female, Asian - asked.  
  
“Jennifer,” Rodney said. “Her name is Jennifer.”  
  
The male EMT squinted at the labels on the bottles. “These are cancer meds.”  
  
“Cancer?” Rodney echoed faintly.  
  
Cam’s throat closed.  
  
Teyla and Ronon appeared in the doorway.  
  
“Rodney,” Teyla said, “what’s going on? Is Teyla all right?”  
  
“Miss Sheppard,” the female EMT said, shining a light in Jennifer’s eyes.  
  
Jennifer groaned and stirred.  
  
“Miss Sheppard. Jennifer? Are you with me?”  
  
Wait. What -? Cam darted a look at John, who was very, very pale.  
  
“Her name is Keller,” Rodney said. “Jennifer Keller.”  
  
The male EMT squinted at the bottles in the bag once more. “These are for a Sheppard, J.”  
  
Cam stared at John. Rodney stared at John. Teyla and Ronon stared at John.  
  
Evan said, “Get Jennifer to the hospital immediately. Rodney, you ride with her. I’ll make sure her family’s notified.” He thrust a wad of cash at Teyla. “The rest of you, take a cab.”

“What other meds is she taking?” the male EMT asked Rodney, setting the bag of pill bottles aside.  
  
Rodney turned wide eyes on him. “Um, birth control, I think.”  
  
Evan ducked into the bathroom, came back with a flowery little cosmetic bag. He handed it to the EMT, who rifled through it.  
  
“Birth control. Diet pills.”  
  
“Diet pills?” Rodney echoed. “Jennifer’s not fat.”  
  
“Any controlled substances?” the EMT asked, glanced at Cam, recognition in his eyes.  
  
“None,” Teyla said flatly. “We are not like that.”  
  
“I don’t care about your reputations, I care about her life,” the EMT snapped.  
  
“None,” John repeated, and the EMT studied him for a moment, then nodded.  
  
Cam cast him another wild look. Both EMTs helped Jennifer to her feet and into the ambulance. Rodney clambered after them. Evan was already on the phone - to the insurance company, to Jennifer’s parents, to Elizabeth, to Woolsey, to seemingly everyone at once.  
  
“John.” Cam caught John’s arm as he hopped off the bus.  
  
Teyla was on the phone to a cab company.  
  
“I have to go with my band,” John said.  
  
Cam nodded. “Go.” He didn’t say what he wanted to, which was _come back when it’s all over_ , because he knew everything had only just begun (or just ended), and he wasn’t sure he’d ever see John Sheppard again.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from All These Things That I've Done by The Killers


End file.
